Steam Pressed
by rootesie
Summary: Ianto's ironing shirts, but Jack is determined to have him begging for it. Things don't go quite to plan, however, as Ianto has a few surprises for him. Warnings: m/m action, clothing kinks and spanking variant.


**Author's Note:** This is shameless pwp, written because I'd been unable to shift this image of Ianto out of my head for months. When I finally worked out what Jack was up to, well, it all fell into place. It's also been nominated for the Forbidden Awards and the Children of Time Awards (kink category). Thanks to all those who nominated it!

*****

Jack fidgets in his seat, the luxurious office chair rendered uncomfortable by his growing anticipation. What's taking Ianto so long? He's only gone to get an apron, after all. He eyes the pile of blue shirts on his desk, and the ironing board standing to attention next to it. The iron emitting occasional hisses as it reaches it's maximum temperature. Steamy, that's the right kind of atmosphere.

He undoes a couple more of his shirt buttons, then has a better idea, removing both the shirt and t-shirt, but putting his braces back over his bare shoulders afterwards. He'd like to be naked really, but Ianto does appreciate those braces, often saying it's what you leave on that makes for the truly erotic. In theory he has to agree, as Ianto does look pretty tasty when he's wearing just his tie. He drapes himself back in the chair, left leg up on his desk, the other spread wide. His right hand finds a resting place on his knee, whereas the left he places in his lap. Perfect. The picture of manly seductiveness. Ianto won't be able to resist him. But he'll have to. He'll have to stand there and do the ironing while Jack plays with himself. And then, when it gets too much to bear, when Jack escalates the wriggles and moans to the downright pornographic, he'll march over and demand that Jack fucks him, thus losing the challenge. A filthy leer splits Jack's face, as he pictures doing Ianto over the ironing board. That'll be a new one for him. For both of them, for that matter. But will it be strong enough to take a Jack-attack? Contemplating the spindly metal legs and their potential to hold up under the stress of a damn good shafting, he completely misses Ianto's entrance.

"You alright there, sir? Feeling a bit hot, were we?"

Startled, Jack looks up, and his breath catches in his throat. What the fuck? Oh god, how can Ianto do this to him, the crafty devil? Because standing there, looking terribly demure in a long red apron, is Ianto Jones. The red is bad enough, as Ianto always looks utterly edible in that colour, his eyes bluer, hair more lustrous, skin glowing like he's just been shagged to within an inch of his life. But then, underneath the apron...

"Uh, yeah, got a bit steamy in here while you were gone." Attempting to salvage the situation, Jack rubs himself in the crotch and attempts another wicked grin, but as his jaw is still somewhere in the region of his ankles, it doesn't feel convincing.

"Would you rather I faced you, sir, or would you like a rear view?" How the hell does he manage to sound so innocent all the time? Especially when he's dressed like that?

"Turn around," Jack orders, voice thick with lust. He has to know. Is Ianto really wearing nothing more than an apron and socks?

Oh god, it's much worse than that. A most peculiar noise escapes his throat, somewhere between a strangled groan and a pained whimper, but Jack doesn't care because all his attention is focused on the view of Ianto's delectable body. The pale skin of his back is bisected by the apron ties, cinching the fabric in around his waist. But below that, the fabric parts against the swell of Ianto's firm buttocks, revealing the crease between those perfect cheeks; the tops of his thighs, hairy and muscular and oh so temptingly framed by the red cloth. But what's really caught Jack's attention is below Ianto's knees...

"Ianto? Are you wearing sock suspenders?" It's a stupid question, because he can see perfectly well what the tight bands of red leather are for, but his brain seems to have melted into a pile of goo and he has no control over his mouth.

"Yes sir, apparently they're an essential part of the outfit of any well-dressed gentleman." His voice is calm and neutral, but Jack detects just a hint of smugness in the set of Ianto's shoulders as he starts ironing the first shirt.

"Huh, well... Haven't seen a pair of sock suspenders in years." Oh god, is he really drooling? Thankfully Ianto can't see him, so he can wipe his chin and try to regain some sort of semblance of respectability. But then he wasn't trying to be respectable, was he? He was trying to be alluring, tempting Ianto away from his chores. Only now he's leaning forward, eyes popping out of his head at the sight of those little leather straps, resting snugly above Ianto's calf muscles. So many memories flood back to him. The wanton desperation of wartime fucks under the night sky. The liaisons with public-school educated gentlemen, experts in buggery from a young age. The atmosphere of ever present danger from bombs or detection infusing every shag with a heady mix of adrenaline and fear.

Jack licks his lips, making his mind up. He can't stand watching much more of this. His prick is rock solid and he needs to do something about it. And Ianto's arse, displayed before him like a partially unwrapped treasure, is calling out to him. He drops to the floor, crawling over to where those stockinged feet await him. He runs his hands up the shapely calves, kneading the muscle, until he reaches the leather straps. Leaning in, his tongue darts out to lick the skin between the strap and the top of the sock, the scent of new leather filling his nostrils. Ianto shudders, his leg twitching slightly in Jack's grip.

"Don't make me cuff you to your chair, Jack," he warns, but his voice is too gravelly to sound really stern.

Choosing to ignore him, Jack licks up the back of Ianto's thigh, pausing to nibble whenever the fancy takes him, but keeping a firm grip around the sock suspenders. He can feel his breathing become more laboured as he nears the top, and he's faced with deciding whether to pull the apron further open with his teeth, or just dive on in there with his tongue.

"Jack, I'm warning you, this is in direct contravention of the Health and Safety at Work Act. I'm in danger of burning myself if you do what you're thinking about." So, mind-reader now, was he? Hold on, Health and Safety...

"I guess you'll just have to restrain me, then, Mr Jones."

Ianto turns around, dark eyes glinting. Jack can't help but notice the way his erection pushes out the apron. God, it's positively obscene. And so tempting to just reach out with his mouth and suck him through the fabric. No, that's no good. Got to focus if he's going to win this one.

"Of course," Jack smirks, "If you cuff me to my chair I won't be able to respond in an emergency situation, which has got to be against Health and Safety." Ha, got him!

"Funny, I've never heard you complain before." True, but then he did love those sorts of games. "Now, are you going to let me get on with my ironing or are you going to beg?"

How does he do that? It's so unfair! He's obviously aroused, yet he'll willingly carry on with ironing a heap of sodding shirts.

Ianto grabs hold of his braces, hauling him up. He doesn't let go, and Jack stands there, trying his damnedest to exercise a bit of mind-control so that Ianto surrenders to his overpowering manliness and begs for it. It looks like it might be working, as Ianto's eyes grow even darker and his breathing speeds up, but then he sucks in his cheeks, raises an eyebrow and releases the braces, which ping back against Jack's chest. Exquisite pain blooms in his nipples, making him gasp in shock.

"More!" he pants, cursing himself for giving in so easily, but unable to resist. Ianto just smirks, takes hold of the braces and pulls Jack closer. Their noses are touching, and Ianto's breath puffs against his face when he speaks.

"Are you begging me for it, Jack?"

"Yes, I'm fucking well begging you for it," he growls, all self-respect melted away by the fever rising within him.

Ianto grins, letting go of the braces again, and before Jack has a chance to recover from the stinging pain, he's pinned face down over his desk, crushed into the pile of shirts. He struggles a bit, but it's really just for show. They both know who's won. A hand presses heavily into his back, the other roaming over his bum. He wriggles back into the touch, hoping to make contact with Ianto's cock, but his lover evades his moves with practised ease.

"I rather like you in these," Ianto purrs, snapping the braces against his back. "Seems a shame to have to take them off."

"You'll have to let me fuck you, then." Aha! Using Ianto's own clothing fetish against him. He'll have to use that tactic again.

"Oh no, I don't think so. I've got a much better idea. Now keep still."

Jack tenses as he hears Ianto take something heavy from his desk drawer. What does he keep in that one, apart from the lube? Then he hears the unmistakable sound of two sharp blades scissoring against each other.

"No, Ianto. You're not doing that!" But it appears that he is, and Jack feels a hand slip under the back of his trousers, holding the fabric taut. Then, with a clean swish of the blades, a rush of cool air hit his buttocks. He shivers a little, enjoying the sensation.

"Seriously, Jack. You'd better keep still. I don't want to do any damage down there. I don't care how quickly you heal, it's just not something I want on my conscience."

Obediently, Jack relaxes his muscles as Ianto cuts through his trousers and underpants, right round to where the fly begins. He grips his hands over the opposite edge of the desk, willing his body to stay still. When the cold blades brush against his balls he has to exercise all his powers of self-restraint, and by the time Ianto finishes he is a panting mess, hair plastered to his sweaty forehead and legs quivering. He feels a slick finger enter him, moaning as he pushes back against it, not caring how debauched he must look with his trousers slit open at the back, his dick still trapped inside and tenting the fabric at the front.

"Do you want this, Jack?" Ianto murmurs, sliding in another finger and stretching him open.

"Yes! Please, Ianto, fuck me, please!" he yelps the last word as those fingers graze his prostate. He can hear Ianto chuckle, and would feel humiliated if it wasn't for the fact that this is always so bloody amazing. This sweet surrender; freeing him to feel, to receive, to be filled. There's nothing better than feeling Ianto moving inside him, claiming him, taking his pleasure. Nothing. Not even being inside Ianto.

And then the fingers pull out, and he sighs contentedly, knowing what will follow. Sure enough, Ianto's blunt, hard cock presses into him. Slow, sure, purposeful. He groans in response to being pushed open, wanting more, deeper, more! He squirms back against Ianto shamelessly until he's in, balls deep, and Jack moans with the unbearable, delightful pressure. He feels hands stroking his back, but other than that, Ianto stays maddeningly still. In the end he jerks his hips back, demanding more.

That earns him another ping of the braces, stinging hot against his damp skin. Oooh, that's good. He wriggles again and again, shouting out with each smarting blow, until the pain starts to get too much. Still again, behaving himself. Waiting. Body trembling, breath coming in shallow gasps. His back on fire. God, he's close. Concentrating on the smell of clean laundry to distract himself from coming too soon.

And then Ianto starts to move, setting a punishing pace, seeming to know just what Jack needs. He pounds into him again and again, hitting that spot inside that makes his eyes water and his cock pulse and before he knows it he's screaming his release, bucking wildly until hands restrain him. Holding him steady, Ianto continues with his relentless thrusting until he too cries out, shudders, then collapses onto Jack's back with a sated groan. When he crashes into the sore skin, Jack bites back a yelp, trying to lose himself in the white heat of it. But Ianto must sense his distress, because as soon as his breathing calms, he pulls out of Jack and pushes down his braces, proceeding to soothe him with his tongue. Ahhh, lovely. He wants to melt into the cushioning shirts, but the edge of the desk is too hard and he's starting to feel distinctly uncomfortable as his senses return to him. His skin hot and prickly, the front of his trousers deliciously filthy; sodden with his cum.

"Mmmm, that feels better." He pushes himself up as Ianto pulls away, and as he turns around is greeted by the sight of Ianto in nothing but a becoming flush and those sexy sock suspenders. "Come here, gorgeous."

He pulls that glowing face closer and crushes his lips into Ianto's, wanting nothing more than to taste, to share, to care. He pulls back, sucking gently on Ianto's lower lip, again and again. Small, teasing kisses, until Ianto pulls him in with both hands and devours him, pushing him back into the desk and reminding him of his butchered trousers when he feels the hard edge against his naked skin. He pulls back from the kiss, heart racing.

"You've ruined a perfectly good pair of trousers, you know. That's not the sort of thing I'd expect from the son of a tailor."

"They're not ruined. A good wash and a little bit of hemming round the edge there and I think you've a fantastic new addition to your wardrobe. Maybe not for everyday wear..." And here Ianto's hands wander down his back to explore the cut edges and what they reveal. Jack shivers a little, wondering how often he'll be willing to wear such a slutty outfit. Hell, knowing him, pretty often. Which reminds him. What about Ianto's new wardrobe addition?

"Have you been wearing those things all day?"

"Oh yes."

Oh fuck. The very thought was making his cock stir again.

"And are you planning on making them an everyday accessory?" Please god, no. It's bad enough wondering whether or not he's wearing any underpants. He finds it nearly impossible to concentrate on work until he's managed to ascertain this for himself; which isn't nearly as easy as you'd think because he suspects Ianto is onto him and is deliberately evasive. If he starts having to think of ways to grope Ianto's lower legs without him noticing, well, it will be a miracle if he gets any work done at all.

Ianto just smiles his most innocent, butter-wouldn't-melt smile. It's never at it's most convincing after he's just shagged Jack senseless, because there's always that wicked gleam in his eyes to contradict the angelic lips.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

_Finis._


End file.
